Robert meets World Podcast

As I sat at edge of Toronto's Harbourfront looking onto Lake Ontario, the grandfatherly words of Alan Watts entered my thoughts:

I had heard this and numerous bits of wisdom like it before: koans, proverbs, dictum; all of which I yearned to live authentically by, automatically even, but never quite feel them at times. There is a superficial level of understanding, an intellectual grasp of a concept, but its another to really know and understand something deep down.

I thought to myself,

I continued.

I tell people I lost my heart in Ericeira. The ocean swept up my recklessness one June morning as I leapt forward into the freezing water—missing the icebaths back home. Exiting the freezing Atlantic to the crisp breeze of Portugal’s coastal surf town, I lost something without realizing it. 

Grief struck later, searching the mirror with a phantom touch to a beloved Malachite necklace, missing; the accommodation quiet with guests already out surfing the coastline. It was only my first month into travel, and here I stood, alone in a hostel built like the 70s. 

https://robertxworld.com/i-lost-my-heart-in-ericeira/

Is programming a way to avoid making art, or a strange way of making it anyway? Drawing on Julia Cameron's concept of the "shadow artist," this essay traces Robert's path into software, past the AI hype, the technical debt, the algorithm interviews, toward Turing's original insight: that almost anything can be symbolic manipulation, including, maybe, creativity itself.

I’m sitting on a worn-out, low, crimson couch cushion.

Around me are multi-dimensional prisms, astrology books, tarot cards, and metaphysical conjectures by philosophers and lunatics alike.

Ahead, the corner holds a crew of three: a young man and two women volunteering to serve tea.

Pure volunteerism runs this teahouse, an unassuming backyard basement. I do not know who owns it or pulls a profit (or loss) from it.

Subscribe for more writing at: https://robertxworld.com/

I watched the teenager pull a copy of Albert Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus from the shelf and glance it over with passive interest. Front to back, back to front, then opening a section in the middle to inspect if it sparked any curiosity. I always enjoyed this part of visiting a bookstore, people watching as a cursory delight; It was the complimentary champagne offered at the entry hall reception before a great banquet. The joy comes from observing what ignites imagination and intrigue in others. Watching someone discover a book from the shelf that I’ve read, and wondering to myself: what did I feel, think, and not know before reading that title, what drew me to that book, what point in their life are they at?

He closed the title and proceeded to attempt re-shelving it. Surprised, I felt the need to intervene. I interjected, rather rudely, as a condescending voice attempting to guide one towards a particular path.

Naturally, I was referring to Camus’ striking opening paragraph that hit me like an iced bucket of water years prior:

There is a simple way of looking at life. You feel joy, and call it joy. You see a sign and read the letters as they are written. There is a second way of viewing life which asks, what is this sentence hiding from itself. The second way is known by Ricoeur as The Hermeneutics of Suspicion.

On the Eastern edge of Bali, a few hours from the bustling draw of Ubud is the small rural area of Sidemen.

A population of 39,000 split across 10 villages, some people say that Sidemen reflects Bali from 20 years ago. A place before the influx of investment capital into hospitality to support the growing tourism surge on the island.

A place of massive rice fields, subsistence farming and the classic Balinese gentleness that captures the heart of travellers.

Comparing this to the developed Canggu, flush with people, non-stop activities, and, for me, a fear of God in driving anything with more than two wheels down the small streets, I feel as though I've gone back in time in Sidemen. It's a peaceful place, a feeling of serenity.

Email list: https://robertxworld.com

A quiet afternoon DJing in Golden Gate Park took an unexpected turn when a park ranger approached me—triggering a wave of immigration anxiety, panic over losing my visa, and an unexpected dive into legal philosophy.

In this video essay, I share a personal narrative about playing music along JFK Drive in San Francisco and how a brief encounter sparked a deeper realization about the "spirit of the law," regulation, and why human discretion keeps what you might assume is a rigid legal code habitable.

To do a plank..

Correctly..

Is a hard thing to do.

The instructor announced as we listened on the veranda of a steamy Costa Rican morning in San Jose.

Often, it looks easy to do from the outside...

Because we do not see the effort required,

From the inside.

Immediately, a Tibetan singing bowl was struck in the background: an elongated ringing followed by a trailing silence circling off into eternity - we held planking on our big toes. 

The quiet voice in my head hummed along as I walked.

Notice the “I” and the “Me”.

Pay attention to the "Me"

In a dream-like state, the sound of my footsteps down Fillmore street filled my ears with a predicable click and clack noise providing a background note for the inward process that was taking place. A process in which I found myself catching each and every thought that the mind attempted to race after, having sprung free like a jailbroken convict.